


Day #5 Lips and Day #6 Irritable

by imaginationandheartbreak (alexgrey)



Series: 30 Days of Writing for Ships: Mattex [5]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1745123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexgrey/pseuds/imaginationandheartbreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’m sorry for taking these 2 prompts in such a depressing direction at first, especially after I combined them thinking the combo would be easier and more fun. This just happened. I promise it does heat up a wee bit at the end, but I just wasn’t feeling it. There are references to a verbally abusive long-ago relationship. If that makes you feel crappy, give this a pass.                                             </p>
<p>And *so sorry* ChiefDoctor that doesn't sound much like a birthday fic, does it, haha?  But it's not *all* depressing. I hope you like it.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Day #5 Lips and Day #6 Irritable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChiefDoctor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiefDoctor/gifts).



> I’m sorry for taking these 2 prompts in such a depressing direction at first, especially after I combined them thinking the combo would be easier and more fun. This just happened. I promise it does heat up a wee bit at the end, but I just wasn’t feeling it. There are references to a verbally abusive long-ago relationship. If that makes you feel crappy, give this a pass. 
> 
> And *so sorry* ChiefDoctor that doesn't sound much like a birthday fic, does it, haha? But it's not *all* depressing. I hope you like it.

It was one of those days when Alex felt the full weight of her most horrid anniversaries keenly. As a child you mostly just have your birthday. As an adult, well… she had dates of miscarriages etched across the calendar, right across it, really… Anniversaries of crushing disappointment. Of terrible decisions. Today was her divorce anniversary. And she would need to make room on her calendar for another – should it be a spring divorce or, maybe, an autumn divorce? What to wear to the event?: red wine. Trackpants. She checked her email irritably, making sure to exit Skype so Salome wouldn’t ring. She didn’t want to pretend to be happy. Not today.

“Hi beautiful.” Fuck. Matt. She’d got up early to avoid him. Today was not his fault.

“Hi…” Alex replied in a voice wary of compliments. She felt like shit and was sure she looked like shit, too. Hair unbrushed, eyes red-rimmed. Her night had been wretched and sleepless and even pressing her body against Matt in the dark to feel the steady beat of his heart had done nothing to still her racing panic. One of those nights. Rarer now, but still making their appearance like an old friend, toxic but familiar.

“What’s wrong?” Matt pads sleepily toward her and moves in for a kiss and cocks his head appraisingly, eyes soft, when Alex moves away just a bit instead of leaning in to kiss him back. She hasn’t looked at him. He can tell she’s been crying.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“No. You’re really not. Alex?”

“No, I’m not.” Her voice is heartbreakingly soft.

“Shit, sweetheart, talk to me…” Matt’s own heart is racing as he drops to his knees in front of her, one hand on her thigh now, the other reaching for one of Alex’s small hands, to bring it to his lips. “… is Salome..”

“She’s fine, Matt,” Alex rushes. Crap, she didn’t mean to scare him. It’s what she does, though. Ralph used to say, at parties, that she was as much fun as a mine field, and just as stable. And then everyone would laugh, some heartily, winking at Ralph, some uncomfortably, risking her a pitying look. Bastard. She can’t breathe. Shit. “Nothing like that,” she adds, her throat tight and it’s all she can do to flash him a too-bright smile. “Just having a moment. What do we have on today?”

“Alex…”

She gets ups too quickly and heads to the kitchen, but it’s like it’s not her kitchen… it’s like a bad dream. “I made the tea ages ago and it’s gone cold, but let me get the kettle,” she says loudly, and it’s not until she’s at the end of the sentence, trying to figure out why it’s hard to say ‘kettle’ – fucking ordinary word – that she realizes she’s been sobbing since the word ‘tea’. And then she’s on her knees and Matt is right there, arms around her – shhh baby I’ve got you hey… hey… I’ve got you- and rocking her… “He said…”

“Who said?”

“Ralph…”

“Ralph? Oh.” Matt says the word ‘oh’ like he could spit. “Do you want to tell me what he said?” He’s rubbing her back, up and down. He remembers now what day it is.

“No.” Her head is noisy with ancient, echoing insults and veiled threats, filled with useless, hopeless, cunt, jealous, honestly-Alex-keep-ups, and fuck yous, resonating with talentless, and she hugs Matt hard, desperate, hiding in his neck, and he pulls her to him so, so close, there on the kitchen floor, the floor where they dance and where they fuck and where he chases her around snapping a dishcloth; the kitchen where she does the dishes naked and where he does anything to make her laugh. He loves them in the kitchen. Hell, he’d marry her in this kitchen. And they could honeymoon here, too.

“Ralph doesn’t get the kitchen.”

Matt sounds very sure and angry for someone who is not making any sense, she thinks: “What?”

“In the divorce, he just doesn’t get to have your future kitchens.”

“umm.. ok…” he’s mad, honestly, her Matt. Hers? The bad dream clears from her head just a little bit and she lets Matt stroke her hair, lets him pull the wettest, front, curls out of her eyes. “Matt… it’s ok.. honestly, I’m sorry… I’m so stupid.”

It’s not fair, she knows. Matt is probably Ralph’s opposite. It’s a cosmic joke. Men on either end of the nice spectrum. Stuck with her. Only this one thinks she’s enormously talented and witty and fun and sexy. He does. She’s fooled him.

Matt turns her in his arms and pulls back just enough to look at her intensely. Like maybe he’s thinking the same thing, she thinks. “Alex,” he breathes, “Don’t say his words.” He puts a soft, warning, finger to her lips and holds it there just briefly, before putting that hand on her wrist instead, kissing her palm and pulling her fingers to his own lips, moving them gently against his mouth before Alex starts to move them of her own accord.

“I will never, ever use my words to hurt you,” Matt growls.

“You might.” She really looks at him for the first time that morning.

“Never like that. Not like that. Never.” Bless, he believes it, she thinks. She’s staring at that mouth though, and he’s speaking like a hypnotist and her breathing is steadier. It is. She can breathe. Fuck…He really wouldn’t. Not on purpose. It’s Matt.

He licks his lips and moves close enough to graze her cheek: “my lips, Alex,” he punctuates his words with small soft kisses, moving toward her temple… “my lips…” he continues kissing… “are for worshipping you.”

“Romantic idiot…” she wants to sound cheeky but just sounds a bit relieved and watery instead and he smiles against her ear and licks and nips and mutters: “Sometimes. You know it. You like it.”

“I do…” She winds her arms around him again and moves to give him a kiss. “Sometimes.” She smiles a real smile for the first time that morning and Matt finds her lips and kisses her back, relieved, feeling her return, but he leaves her mouth to trail down her neck, not quite kissing, just dragging his lips along her collarbone now, pulling up her t-shirt… his t-shirt… leaning her back against their kitchen floor, a familiar motion - theirs - and ducking underneath to tickle her there, too, his lips soft, breath hot, tongue also trailing down her body now, and oh he wants her, he always does, but he feels quite desperate to feel her know it.

“Alex?”

“Mmm…yes..”

“yes?”

She doesn’t answer but spreads her legs just slightly so he keeps moving toward her cunt - slowly though… a hundred kisses, whispering how brilliant she is and how stunning and his and hot and always. He dips lower and presses his face against her folds, finally pulling her lips slowly apart with his own, breathing hot against her clit: “marry me.”

Matt’s right she thinks. What the hell had she been thinking? Ralph can go to hell perpetually. He doesn’t get an anniversary anymore. He doesn’t get this kitchen. She blushes and arches into Matt. God what they’ve done in this kitchen. Wait - WHAT? She stills underneath him.

Yes, Matt thinks, relishing the small signal that she’d heard before focusing all his dreams on her clit…yes, he could marry her in this kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> Since I've combined day #5 and #6 i won't be posting fic tomorrow.. I may just post a message, though, so my 30 days aren't out of synch with the 30 days of the month. Hope that's ok :-)


End file.
